


All Up the Seething Coast

by kuwdora



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: AU, M/M, Rebellion, Volume 4ish, bad guys gone good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-26
Updated: 2009-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-27 22:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1724006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuwdora/pseuds/kuwdora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We barely have room for one loose cannon, let alone two,” Peter said, holding his bandaged arm up for Sylar to see. The top of his hand that the bandage didn’t cover was blistered and raw but healing; the shape and cover of the burns a familiar sight. Peter closed his fist as he sat down at the table, angrily shoving the papers aside as he leaned back in the chair and glared at Sylar, as if it was his fault that he got burned. Which it <i>wasn’t</i>, but Sylar wasn’t in the mood to argue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Up the Seething Coast

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Yet Another Anonymous Heroes Kink Meme](http://47-trek-47.livejournal.com/280938.html) for the big ol' specific-y prompt: Sylar has joined the rebels, and brings his own brand of justice to the fight, because he's looking for a challenge. Luke really doesn't give a crap, he just wants to be with Sylar. Sylar pushing Luke to grow, teaching him control in war... and elsewhere.

_prologue_

“We barely have room for one loose cannon, let alone two,” Peter said, holding his bandaged arm up for Sylar to see. The top of his hand that the bandage didn’t cover was blistered and raw but healing; the shape and cover of the burns a familiar sight. Peter closed his fist as he sat down at the table, angrily shoving the papers aside as he leaned back in the chair and glared at Sylar, as if it was his fault that he got burned. Which it _wasn’t_ , but Sylar wasn’t in the mood to argue.

Sylar kept his face neutral while he took in the sight of the broken glass scattered across the countertops—smashed dishes, silverware strewn everywhere and disfigured water faucet hanging half-melted above the sink. It vaguely smelled of burnt plastic, metal and hair. There was a makeshift tarp spread over the broken window above that didn’t do a good job keeping cool spring air from seeping in. Sylar looked back at Peter and shrugged, hands falling to his sides. Sylar was too busy with his responsibilities to the so-called rebellion to know when Luke was acting up back on the homestead.

“What? He too much for you to handle?” Sylar asked and attempted to pull a melted spoon from the countertop but it didn’t give with a few tugs. He left it and continued to survey the battered scene, knowing full well where Peter was going.

“He is becoming a bigger a problem by the day,” Peter said, motioning at the mess. “We came here to keep a low profile, gather our people and intelligence and plan accordingly. I’m not going to let some kid who got mixed up in your crap bring all of this down. There are lives at stake, or don’t you remember that other people have to deal with life _and_ death in this world?” Their eyes met and Sylar almost felt sorry for him.

Sylar sauntered to the kitchen window and tried to stare through the opaque covering. He’d only came by to drop off a memory stick of information that contained Nathan’s itinerary for an upcoming summit and get back to Washington. Sylar didn’t appreciate relaying messages and information long-distance in person if he didn’t have to. But Sylar had resigned his fate, for now, to staying low and gathering information. He was trying to treat it like a new game… Not that he didn’t miss confrontations and showdowns with Peter and the others, but nothing was the same anymore, especially when he had so many powers at his disposal, making things such an uneven fight, so easy and boring. It’s why the rebellion was a new scene he was fine with. It was different kind of strategy he got to develop and work with around people and their idiotic plans.

The glass crunched beneath his feet as he walked and Peter growled at his indifference when he dropped a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

“I’m not kidding. Matt’s going to make him think he’s his pet turtle until this is all over or Claire’s going to actually kill him. And I might not stop her.” Sylar wanted to laugh but he didn’t have a chance because Peter was immediately at his side, looking as raw and angry as the burns on his arm. Sylar paused, not accustomed to Peter vibrating with this much anger anymore, not after Peter decided to take a more behind-the-scenes approach to saving the world. He let the emotions wash over him; the feeling wasn’t nearly as good as killing and goading Peter, but it was enough to amuse him without even trying.

“If you still think you’re smarter and better than all of us, make sure he doesn’t mess things up any more than they already are,” Peter said and shoved a newspaper into his hands. Sylar unfolded the paper and read slowly, only noticing Peter in his peripheral take his seat at the table again. Sylar cracked his thumbs and folded the insert small enough to fit in his pocket and when he looked up, he found Peter glaring at him. He glared back for a moment wandered through the silent house to the front door and grabbed closest pair of gloves from the table of winter-weather items with the intention of being out long enough to need them. He didn’t have time to be running Luke down when he wanted nothing more than to get into the field again, but making sure Luke stayed in line for the sake of everybody had become his top priority.

***

Marquette, Michigan wasn’t the largest city ever but it was large enough that it took Sylar more than a few hours of driving around, trying to think of places to search for Luke. His first-hand knowledge of the area was limited since he’d only spent a few months at a time in the area when they were first scouting locations and eventually routing people and information that far north. Once he’d found Luke sequestered in the corner of a local pancake house, a place covered wall-to-wall with the moose and deer imagery and served by plaid-aproned waitresses who were so charmed by the sight of Luke working on admissions essays for hours and they served him endless refills of soda—here it was _pop_ —and they never seemed to notice how the little bowl of aus jus for his roast beef was always steaming hot hours later when they returned with free desserts as rewards for his hard work.

The other time Sylar had been around, he’d spent the week in town for one of Peter’s little pow-wow. He couldn’t stand the days-long strategizing and arguing and Peter trying to control the conversation and direction of the rebellion. Moreover, he was so tired of trying to keep the telepathic cop out of his head, that one day he up and left during the middle of the conversation and went out to explore, despite the fact there was nowhere to go unless he felt like gambling away the supplemental income Peter provided him with. Driving was a good way for Sylar to clear his head that he nearly missed Luke just standing on the sidewalk, mangy and unkempt as a stereotypical misfit could be, smoking a cigarette outside the dingy record store. Apparently Luke was looking for a reason to procrastinate an essay for his sociology class and Sylar was the perfect excuse to commiserate together at the townie restaurant.

Sylar never bothered to mention the irony or shrewdness of Luke declaring himself a Criminal Justice major. He didn’t need to.

At the moment Luke wasn’t at the record store or the restaurant, nor any other places Sylar could think of. It seemed that Luke was getting better at hiding, disappearing when he wanted. Sylar was a little proud by that fact, but no less irritated. If Luke couldn’t keep his nose clean, it inevitably reflected back on him, as if he was still responsible for everything he said and did. Luke didn’t need to be looked after any more than Sylar needed anyone to look after, which is why he was grateful that Peter had tentatively agreed that Luke should stick around with them until their offensive against the government was over. Sylar was absolutely fine letting Peter pretend he was the bigwig and all good ideas were his. It was good practice to figure out how to deal with the whininess, learn how to be at someone’s beck and call and color inside the lines...until he felt like drawing his own pictures again. Besides, figuring how to push Peter and Mohinder and the rest of the rebellion's buttons _while on their side_ was a perk he wasn’t going to let Luke ruin. Even so, he should have some kind of idea how important the work was because it was for everybody’s benefit.

It wasn’t until Sylar decided to swing by one of the beaches at Lake Superior, literally the last place he could think of to look, that he got a better feeling about his search, vaguely recalling the once-upon-a-time memories of Luke telling him stories of birding with his father.

As Sylar scanned the horizon, he wished he could find not-so-little-anymore Molly Walker to help him with this kind of thing, but now he made sure he could do as much he could without using his abilities as a crutch. He didn’t intend on being disarmed, depowered ever again, but he made sure his other skills didn’t suffer as a result.

He parked in the lot of the county’s historical museum which wasn’t open for the season yet and got out of the car, immediately regretting not taking a scarf and hat when he left. The wind coming off Lake Superior was still too chilly for most people to be out to enjoy the sunset and it was _definitely_ too cold to for him to bother searching high and low for someone who clearly didn’t want to be found. Sylar couldn’t catch a cold anymore, but it didn’t mean he didn’t feel the cold and wind in the first place.

Sylar looked down the hiking path that led into an array of gnarled trees that were waiting for the April showers to bring the leaves back. He glanced in the direction of the mottled beach where he saw a woman in a tracksuit with her golden retriever running alongside in the wet sand. The old lighthouse perched on the hill was a distant backdrop that he eyed only for a moment before he pulled the collar of his jacket up and started down the path less travelled.

He made his way through the winding hiking trail that splintered off into various game trails, damp from a recent rain but Sylar remained on the main path that continued to rise in elevation, much to his annoyance. By the time he got to the top of one such hill, he was surprised to find a rope bridge that that spanned two very steep hills. He crossed it without any hesitation, keeping an eye below and around him, absolutely hoping for Luke’s sake that he wasn’t on some wild goose chase, otherwise he’d be paying once he did find him.

When he made it to the other side of the rope bridge, the trail forked: one deeper into the pine and birch-laden forest, the other snaking towards the lake. Sylar walked towards the lake where he could see the water in between the skirts of pine. It was closer and it’d be easy enough to backtrack if he had to take the other route if it was a dead end, so he kept walking.

Sylar was careful as he edged down the hill to the water. The more the forest thinned to his left, the more the hill rose up until it became a large cliff, red-clay with trees on the top protruding off the edge, angled towards the water like they were maidens waiting for their sailor to return home.

He slowed and lowered himself into a crouch once he caught sight of the cove. Luke was lounging against a rock with his feet propped up on a washed-up log, hood pulled over his head. From his vantage point, Sylar could see the iPod and half-eaten candy bar sitting in Luke’s lap. He didn’t need sensitive hearing to know that he the volume up far too loud and would mask any kind of approach that Sylar would have normally planned.

Sylar stood and skated down the rest of the hill, picking up a rock along the grass-trampled path. He didn’t bother acknowledging Luke when he came into his eye line and instead walked to the water and stared at the receding waves. He gave Luke a wordless glance before looking back to the water and skipping the rock—one—two skips and then the rock submerged. His shoulders fell in disappointment and he picked up another rock and threw it, skipping once—twice—but it submerged again.

He turned and Luke tugged the earbuds out, pocketed the candy bar and shoved his hands in the pouch of his sweatshirt.

“I’m not apologizing,” Luke said.

Sylar scoffed quietly and shoved his hands back into his pockets with his back was to the lake, a momentary shield from the wind. He strode over to Luke and slid down the face of the rock and elbowed him for more space. Luke shimmied over and Sylar propped his feet up on the log as well, butt grinding into the cushion of dirt and rocks beneath him and tried to get comfortable despite the bitter cold lashing his face.

“Don’t apologize. Not now, at least. Peter’s a whiny little man at the best of times, but he has good reason to be right now,” Sylar said. He looked at Luke who stared at the water; petulant and defiant as any kid who was straddling the line of adolescence and adulthood, only he had the added bonus of dealing with the politics of organizing espionage and domestic terrorism while living in the backwoods of the midwest. “But you have to realize that there are real consequences to your actions.”

Sylar pulled out the newspaper and began to unfold it. Luke pointedly ignored him, opting to eat the last half of his candy bar instead. It’s because it wasn’t news and they both knew it, but Sylar needed to be humored.

“The college paper has a cover story about vandalism of the radio station,” Sylar said curiously. “They thought it was a prank, but investigation discovered the transmitter and other equipment had been melted beyond recognition. $12,000 in estimated damages,” he said. He flipped the insert over and folded the paper in half.

“And here, the security watch here has several students reporting massive burns after a concert event.”

Luke crumpled up the wrapper and tossed shoved it into his pocket. Sylar pulled Luke’s hood down. “The point is to not be noticed. Nobody’s forcing you to take the classes. That was your idea, remember? If you don’t want to be there, there’s more than enough work to keep you busy around the house, run some jobs.”

Luke craned his head to glare. “ _They_ don’t even want me here in the first place.” Luke pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his his hands and he let his head fall against the rock, his sigh sounding more like Peter’s frustrated growl, though tinged with more longing if Sylar heard correctly.

“Why can’t we just face them head on, anyway? You’re more than anyone can handle and hell, Peter can probably blow some shit up if he ever stopped worrying about breaking somebody’s nail,” Luke said as he got up. Sylar sat up a little more and tilted his head.

“He didn’t even fight back,” Luke muttered, focusing on his old sneakers as he stepped on the washed-up log, balancing for several paces and when he slipped, nearly twisting his ankle. He barely glanced at Sylar when throwing up his arms.

“What good is it to hang around such lame people who just plot and plan and nothing ever works? And then all they do is bitch about it. It’s been _two years_ and four of these hick cities. Aren’t you tired of this?” he asked, full of the indomitable exasperation Sylar was all too familiar with. Sylar would get tired of it sooner or later, but they had to get the job done first, make sure that everyone didn’t have to stay in hiding as long as the government was prying into their lives and imprisoning anyone he’d be interested in killing.

“We have people on the inside. Things are happening and will come together if our cover isn’t blown, but that’s only if the state newspapers don’t pick up strange incidents happening up here.”

“Man, I miss when it was just the two of us and you would string the feds up by their toes. _That_ was action. That was fun,” Luke said. He turned from Sylar and used his foot to pull up a rock. He chucked it into the lake but Sylar caught the stone before it landed in the water and drew it back with his telekinesis, making sure to hit Luke square in the shoulder on the way. The rock dropped short of Sylar’s feet which he pulled closer with his heel.

“I know this isn’t what you bargained for, but you have to remember when it’s best to hold back. Patience. You’ll have plenty of time to do whatever the hell you want,” he said, standing and tossing the rock between his hands.

“Don’t do that,” Luke demanded and rubbed his shoulder.

Sylar skipped the rock, one—two—three skips before the wave took it under.

“Do what?” he asked innocently and turned, squinting to prevent the wind that rolled off the lake from making his eyes water.

“Talk to me like that. You know I hate it when you or anyone else talks down to me.” Luke was taking several steps away from him, eyes cast at the ground, looking for more sizable rocks as he went.

“Then stop acting like a kid,” Sylar said, picking up another stone and thumbed the rounded edges. When he looked up at Luke, anger was filling his features. Sylar dug a heel into the sandy ground.

“Shut the fuck up. You’ve been gone six months doing who-knows-what, but at least you’re not _here_ , rotting. I am so fucking bored,” Luke said. He picked up another misshapen rock and heaved it like a shot-put into the water and shrugged his shoulders.

Sylar began to remove the leather gloves from his hands. “If you’re going to lash out, lash out at someone who can take it as good as you can give.”

Luke regarded him with a wary disposition as Sylar shoved the gloves into his pockets. His right hand crackled a virulent blue that threw enough light that allowed him to see Luke’s eyes widen. Sylar looked back to the washed-up log and reached for it with the telekinesis and hurled it in a wide arc over Luke’s head until it exploded in a wet crack as he split the wood as it landed in the water. Splinters scattered like rain drops in the water and at their feet and Luke took several hesitant steps backwards.

Sylar nodded at Luke. “Come on, get it out of your system so I don’t have to deal with Peter’s bullshit whenever I come back. He seems to think that I’m the only one who can handle you,” he said.

Luke rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to be handled.”

“So you’re not up for a fight now? Sophomore Mandy Frankle had _second degree burns_ on her arm. She was easy to take down, right? I know what it’s like to feel stuck, useless. Alone,” Sylar said, turning his palm slightly as he looked out at the water. “Knowing that you’re meant to be more, be _special_ ,” he said, secretly hating the how the word _special_ didn’t sound or feel remotely special anymore. “But now’s not the right time,” Sylar said.

Luke’s anger propelled him several steps forward. “Is this really why you’re here? To teach me some kind of lesson? If you really want to help me, get me the fuck out of here,” Luke said, the timbre of his voice rising. There was still enough twilight left to see his fingers flexing at his sides, physically itching for it. Even from a distance, Sylar felt the heat pulsating from Luke’s hands.

“Knowing when to fight and when to hide is just as important as _how_ you fight and _who_ you fight,” Sylar said, stepping closer, raising his hand, sparks jumping from his open palm.

Luke circled Sylar, his back to the rocks and the forest. He bent down and picked up a tennis ball sized rock and his hands slid back into the pouch of his sweatshirt.

“Talk about being outmatched. Who’s the hypocrite now?” Luke rolled his shoulders and pulled his hood back up. Sylar couldn’t help but recall all those who had stood in front of him as arrogant and self-assured as Luke. The majority of them didn’t live long enough to walk away like he did.

Luke lobbed the rock at Sylar and started jogging up the hill. Sylar stopped the rock easily and threw it back at Luke, hitting him hard enough in the back to knock him to his hands and knees. Sylar counted the curses that flew from Luke’s mouth, making Luke's point about hypocrisy exactly, but Luke needed to _understand_ the point, not turn heel and ignore everything that happens.

He was already on his feet by the time Sylar was within arm’s reach. “Would you rather I string you up by your toes?”

Luke brushed the dirt from his palms and shoved him. It took Sylar a moment to regain his balance before he could clamber after him. Luke had managed to get half-way across the rope bridge by the time Sylar got another glimpse of the worn sweatshirt that was becoming harder to follow in the settling darkness.

The path was drier on higher ground where the pine trees were tightly clustered together but the moment Sylar began to shuffle across the coiled rope he realized his feet were still wet from beach and nearly lost his footing. Luke twisted to look back at him and with a shit-grin, Luke began using his weight to push and pull on the railings to throw Sylar off balance before he finished his last few steps and hopped off.

Sylar threw out his hand and tripped Luke and quickly directed his TK to help keep all three ropes steady while he inched one foot over another to the other side, the telekinetic cushion of air helping support him and get across faster than before now the he was in a hurry. He hadn’t had the mind to keep Luke pinned, but Luke had rolled onto his back of his own volition and folded his arms over his chest, knees drawn together, waiting. Sylar edged off the rope bridge and hovered, offering his arm. Luke didn’t take it and remained idle on the damp ground.

“You’re such a dick,” Luke muttered and raised his hand but instead of taking the help, he grabbed Sylar’s ankle and his hand vibrated with heat until he burned through denim, shoe and skin. Sylar jumped back, swearing and hobbling until the skin grew back. Unfortunately the jeans weren’t going to regenerate and his sock was singed and his shoe still burned. He kicked Luke in the side, though not hard enough to do any damage because he was still completely surprised. Luke laughed and got up.

“Looks like I’ve rubbed off on you, then,” Sylar muttered and shoved Luke by the shoulders in front of him. He took a second to kick smoldering shoe off and threw it at Luke but missed. It rolled off the beaten path and Sylar left it and made sure to keep Luke in his sights.

Luke snickered again and Sylar watched the Luke’s silhouette of him pull down the hood now like it was going to protect him.

They walked in silence but Sylar struggled to keep his tongue when he stepped on something sharp or scratched his cold foot, lest he tip Luke off to his annoyance. Luke stopped suddenly and Sylar skidded to a halt.

“Look, I’m sorry, but you _know_ how infuriating this is,” he said and backed off the path and leaned against a squat, leafless tree, folding his arms.

“It sucks, but it’ll blow over. Trust me,” Sylar said, taking the lead.

A dead tree exploded to Sylar’s left, blowing large enough chunks into Sylar’s side. He nearly fell forward in surprise, grunted and quickly wrenched the half-foot branch from his gut. He turned around and looked at Luke who folded his hands into his arms again.

Sylar kicked a stray branch with the foot that was still shoed, placing pressure on his side until it healed up. Except he’d have a hole in his jacket now.

Luke skidded down the hill, past Sylar and at the bottom he turned around and Sylar could barely make out the shrug of Luke gave him.

“I can be doing so much more. _Be_ more, but _no_ , I’m the punk kid, token runaway. Can’t get along with people like us, can’t get along with people my age. It sucks and I don’t want anymore of it.”

Another tree exploded beside Sylar and he ducked, shielding his face with his arm, though miraculously all of the larger chunks that flew past his head missed him.

Sylar fingered the hole in his jacket and sighed as he pulled it down over his waist.

“They won’t even give me a chance,” he said while Sylar approached, picking up a a stray branch and tossed it aside. Sylar understood Luke’s frustration, but there wasn’t much that he could do, except maybe talk to Peter and figure out how to give him more of a role in what was going on but it was hard to appreciate Luke’s anger when it was directed at him of all people, but he couldn’t solve Luke’s problems. Now just wasn’t a good time for any special people.

Luke stared at him, waiting for a response and Sylar lit up his left hand with a spark and used the other to tug on the drawstring of Luke’s hood.

“If you show them an ounce of your ingenuity, they’d be stupid not to use you, but you have to do a better job of keeping your head clear,” he said. “ _Think_ before you act.”

Luke grabbed his wrist that was about to let go of the drawstrings and peeled the hood off with the other hand. Luke then pressed lips to to his, wet, messy and all-too-eager.The heat and intensity made Sylar flush, the unexpectedness overwhelming the rest of his senses. Luke was smart enough to angle Sylar’s arm out of the way as he leaned in so he wouldn’t get caught in the the sudden crackle that erupted from his palm. Luke’s stubble scraped against his cheek and that’s when Sylar pursed his lips and pulled away. He slowly closed his palm, the blue hue dissipating, but he caught sight of Luke’s defiant smirk before the darkness separated them again. Sylar swallowed, trying to regain his thoughts, remembering how sweet the _want-take-have_ mentality tasted when, not caring about asking or repercussions. Luke shifted, nearly stepping on Sylar’s naked foot and Sylar backtracked enough to remember how much serious, unnecessary trouble leaping before looking got him.

“Did you not hear what I was just saying?” Sylar asked quietly, hands dropping to his sides.

“Fine. You know what, I don’t need any of this,” Luke said walked past him shoved his hands in the pocket and stormed off. Sylar reluctantly started after him and groaned to himself, thinking how easy it would be to tell Peter Luke had fallen down those steep hills by accident. He managed to wiggle the stiff fingers into the gloves again and tried massage some feeling into his ears and when he tried to warm his face, he pretended he didn’t linger on his lips and the corners of his mouth.

By the time the forest opened up to the empty sand and parking lot, Sylar could hear the sounds of traffic off the county road in between the sharp gusts of wind. He zipped the jacket up to his chin and scanned the beach for a moment, allowing time for his eyes to adjust to the evening’s darkness. He could vaguely see movement down on the beach, hands faintly glowing at Luke’s sides, heading towards the direction that the lighthouse sat idle and dark.

Sylar’s eyes watered from the assaulting wind. He’d be so much better off heading up the slope to the parking lot and going back to the safe house, let Luke cool down, but he felt tethered to him for some reason, out of guilt or something else. He palmed the hole in his jacket, tired of the icy spears hitting his skin and began to shadow Luke.

***

He was tired, cold, and really tired of being cold but after climbing up far too many steps built into the rolling hillside, he was almost ready to go back because the winds slammed into him like he was a bowling pin to be knocked over. Sylar tried huddling inside his jacket and strode to the lighthouse, ready to trek up the winding staircase to the top and see if that’s where Luke hid, but a faint light came from the window of the dilapidated two-story shack next to the lighthouse which looked much more promising.

When he opened the front door of the house, he smirked thoughtlessly at the _closed for reconstruction_ sign and was pleased to find half of the deadbolt melted beyond repair. He peered around the anteroom for a moment and decided to ignore the first floor and instead stepped over the rope that blocked off the stairs, careful of the creak of footsteps, but also mindful of splinters from the old floorboards for his naked foot.

Sure enough, Luke was inside the master bedroom that was furnished with what looked like the best that the camping section of Wal-Mart had to offer. He was stretched out on a cot, earbuds in, pillows bunched behind his shoulders and laptop resting on his stomach. Beside him were two lanterns that sat on top of an oversized cooler. Books and empty soda cans and beer bottles were strewn across the room and what looked like various cookware items were wedged between the wall and cooler. It appeared as if Luke had enough to keep him self-sufficient, at least in the short-term. Sylar leaned against the door frame and tried to count the number of shattered bottles at the opposite end of the room.

“Don’t you have better things to do,” Luke asked over the sound of the rattling windowpanes.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Sylar said, kicking his other shoe off. Luke snorted.

“Yeah, well, the nearest IKEA’s 500 miles away,” he said, still focused on the hazy glow of the laptop.

Sylar replaced an open bag of chips with himself as he sank into the fold-up chair in front of the window. He angled the chair towards Luke and propped his feet on the edge of the cot and helped himself to the chips, the crunch of chips were oddly loud in the silence that hung between them.

Luke did his best to scowl and kick Sylar’s feet off the edge before sitting up.

“Go and fight the good fight already,” he said, closing his laptop and sliding it under the cot.

“Nice view you got here,” Sylar said, motioning at the lake as he put his feet up again.

“You know what the say, location, location, location. You came, you saw. You’re lucky I don’t charge you admission. It’s normally $20 to get in here when it’s open. Now see ya in six months or whenever you decide to come back to this hellhole.”

“Quite the host, aren’t you,” Sylar said, folding the bag closed and tossed it aside. “Besides, this doesn’t seem so bad, as far as places go.”

“Whatever,” Luke said, standing and kicking the empty cans over. “I’ve decided I’m not going to be anybody’s problem anymore. I’ll be out of here soon enough.” He stepped over Sylar’s stretched legs and walked to the other corner where the closet sat open.

“Where will you go?” Sylar asked.

“Doesn’t matter. Any place will be better than this. I’ll find something to do,” Luke said and pulled a duffel bag from the closet.

Sylar gently twisted his wrist and the bag slid back into the closet. Luke’s shoulders slumped and he faced him. “Stop that.”

The LED from the lanterns barely reached Luke’s face in that corner of the room but even so the anger was evident the moment he roughly grabbed the bag and kicked the door shut. Sylar crossed his legs and repressed a sigh, trying to choose his words carefully.

“You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Fuck you and fuck this rebellion.”

Sylar shivered when a gust of air made it through the rattling windowpane. He rubbed his face and got up. This kind of thing had gone on too long, but he knew how Luke felt. It had been a long time since either of them had felt free, but time was something he was well acquainted with. “Far be it for me to advise you on what you need to do, but you could be a bit more practical and listen a bit more. You can learn a thing or two from these people,” he said.

“Like what?” Luke said, kneeling beside the cooler and removing the lanterns to get at the lid. Sylar sat up and decided to lay claim to the cot now that it was open.

“Enough to know how to use their powers and ideas against them if you ever need to. Once this little thing with the government is cleared up, of course,” he added with a wry smile and stretched, peering inside the cooler.

Luke shoved several hefty stacks of bills bound together with a rubber band into the duffel which was followed by the neatly stacked pocket-sized books that lay beneath.

“Where did that come from?” he asked.

“I’ve gotten good at sneaking into the casinos,” Luke replied, barely looking at Sylar as he loaded up the duffel. “And better at blackmail,” he added under his breath. Sylar didn’t bother to hide his smile.

Luke put the lid back and Sylar grabbed his hand before he could pull away from the cooler. Sylar gently tugged him forward.

“You’re being too hasty,” making sure he caught Luke’s eye. Luke twisted free and sat back on his haunches. Luke stared at him for a long moment.

“If I was going any slower, I’d be going in reverse,” Luke said and Sylar’s chest tightened in empathy.

Luke pushed the cooler aside and reached underneath the cot for his laptop and shoved it into the duffel. The windows rattled loud enough to mask the sound of the zipper closing.

“I know you want more, but you have to learn how to wait to show your hand,” Sylar said slowly, knowing it wasn’t going to make a bit of difference.

“I am so tired of your bullshit,” he said and got up and grabbed the bag. “Either let me get in the game with you or leave me alone already.”

Sylar sat up and they stared at each other for another half-minute. He wasn’t sure how to remind Luke how he was already in the game, roped in all those years ago from that living room of his mother’s house in Jersey. Back when he was just a dumb kid, lying through his teeth, stringing Sylar along the way he did and fooling Sylar much longer than anyone else had had the luxury of saying. As annoyed as Sylar was at the time, Luke’s cleverness was endearing in a way that Sylar wasn’t willing to talk about, especially when Sylar plucked him from a holding cell deep in the bowels of Washington D.C. and planted him with Peter for his own safety.

Luke broke their gaze first and headed for the door and Sylar stood without thinking.

“Fine,” Sylar blurted out and Luke froze in the doorway.

Sylar’s shadow reached Luke before he did and Luke didn’t bother to turn until Sylar was a step behind him. “Fine,” Sylar repeated, tugging on the drawstrings of the hood again and Luke’s brows knit together in response. It made Sylar crack a hesitant smile.

His fingers feathered the ridiculous sideburns Luke bothered to grow out and Luke leaned into his touch, letting Sylar tip his head up for their lips to meet. It took a few moments of gentle probing of his tongue for Luke’s bag hit the floor and the arm to slide around his waist.

“Fine,” Luke murmured back and pulled a twig from the hole in Sylar’s jacket. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and Sylar knocked his hand out of the way.

He kissed him again and rested his forehead against Luke’s.

“You owe me a new jacket,” Luke grinned and guided him backwards with Sylar glancing over his shoulder, making sure not to trip over the lanterns. He flopped onto the cot and Luke crawled onto him without much direction, all elbows and knees that bumped and pinched in the wrong and right places.

“Easy,” Sylar said with a short huff as Luke made for his neck and jaw, trying to push the jacket off his shoulders. Sylar sat up despite Luke’s weight against him and shrugged the jacket off. Luke didn’t even let him fall into the pillows again, he just yanked on Sylar’s shirt, but mid-way through he lost interest with the shirt over Sylar’s head and Sylar fell back onto the small cot, Luke now covering his stomach with hot, wet kisses and Sylar tried to remember to breathe steadily and focus on detangling himself. By the time he managed to pull the rest of the cotton over his head, Luke had already stripped himself to his waist. The lanterns made all the edges around Luke softer and the lanky shadow that his body cast was vaguely hypnotic as they writhed on the ceiling while Luke made his way up and down Sylar’s chest, squeezing and groping every place imaginable.

“Hey, _hey,_ ” Sylar warned, though it sounded more strangled than he hoped. He lifted his head and parted his legs and used his knees to pinch Luke’s sides, hold him steady. Luke’s fingers pressed deep into his hips, thumbing the belt loops and the heat building up beneath the fingertips was measurable.

“Nobody’s taught you about restraint?” Sylar asked and as if on cue the windows shook and goosebumps spread across his chest and Luke’s mouth was there, trying to scare them back to where they came from.

“Screw restraint,” Luke said and kneaded Sylar’s crotch with far too much gusto for Sylar to handle. The undulating shadows disappeared as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and before he could reach for Luke’s hands, his cock was free of his pants and didn’t even have a chance to twitch from the cold air because Luke took him in completely.

Sylar breathed deep again, the pleasure roiling through his body too fast, too soon and he sat up enough until he managed to wriggle free of Luke's eager mouth. Luke’s chest heaved and the half-grin sliding onto his face was matched by the arrogant sway as he crawled into Sylar’s space again.

Luke captured his lips with an insistent kiss and Sylar laughed into his open mouth. “I admire your enthusiasm,” Sylar murmured, letting his hand run along the stubble of his cheek. “But hold on a second.”

The shadows on the ceiling waxed and waned as Luke slowly leaned back, flexing his fingers until they came to rest on Sylar’s thighs. Sylar tried swallowing the lump in his throat, bereft of all words. So he laughed and Luke echoed the sound.

“You have to pace yourself, here as well as out there,” Sylar said, twining his fingers with Luke’s and squeezing before they slid to Luke’s waist. Luke snorted but inched into Sylar’s open palm nonetheless and rose up onto his knees. Sylar sat up and kissed Luke’s chest several times as he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down. Luke got up, shoving the jeans off completely out and Sylar did the same. He wrapped an arm Luke’s neck and used the other to hold their grinding cocks together, too flush with arousal for the pins and needles of cold air on his back to register. Luke was trying to rush into Sylar’s mouth and hands, but Sylar pulled away, only letting Luke have more once he took a slower approach. He acquiesced perfectly as Sylar turned him 40 degrees and pressed him to the cot.

“It’s always important to know when to give and when to take,” Sylar whispered, dropping his voice, surprised that he was able to concentrate long enough to form words. Luke sighed like he was melting when Sylar ran his hands on the inside of his thighs.

“Are you really going to keep talking?” Luke murmured.

Sylar teethed on Luke’s hip for a moment as an answer before kissing his way to the extended cock. He looked to Luke, who had his head propped up and watched Sylar with nothing short rapt attention. Sylar elbowed his left leg out of the way for the space and and took him in. Luke writhed from the onset the moment Sylar began to suck fastidiously. He kept Luke’s hips pinned to the cot and tried to loosen his jaw to accommodate Luke’s and go deeper. When he tongued the underside of his cock and pulled back ever so gently, thumbs teasing Luke’s balls, it elicited a soft groan that sent more shivers down Sylar’s back than the biting wind ever did. He flicking at the crown of Luke's cock at sustained, unprecedented pace. Just like he'd hoped, Luke’s breathing became increasingly labored and he struggled to find his footing again, knee bumping against Sylar's side. He could feel Luke’s melting resistance inside his mouth and under his hands and that was something Sylar couldn't have any of, not yet anyway. He pulled off and Luke’s loud humming tapered off once his cock met the cool air of the bedroom again.

“You okay?” Sylar asked, squeezing Luke’s knee. He grunted pleasurably and laughed, as on edge as Sylar hoped.

“It's cliche, patience is a virtue, here and on the battlefield.”

“Seriously? I’m not hearing anything you’re saying,” Luke breathed quietly and Sylar traced the shape of Luke’s balls until his fingers wandered to his opening, kneading teasingly.

“And while the battlefield around here isn’t much to look at, you’ll someday find yourself in an unfamiliar place with no idea of what to do, enemies at every turn. It’s good practice,” Sylar said and sat up on his haunches, stroking himself a few times, reminding to not go too fast himself.

“Always try to have a backup plan. If you leave, have an idea of where you’re going. If you don’t leave, figure out piece by piece what you’re going to do the longer you stick around here,” Sylar said, unimaginably hard from the sight of Luke splayed out, limbs and angles looking in sharper contrast now that he was underneath him, eyes half-lidded, lips parted as he was about to say something but bit his lower lip instead which stroked Sylar’s curiosity.

“Right now I don’t want to be anywhere but here,” Luke said quietly and rolled onto his side, almost knocking Sylar off balance in the process. He shoved the cooler and empty cans away and reached for something Sylar couldn’t see. In that rush, he knocked the lantern over and Sylar bent to set it upright and unfolded his legs to stand for a moment, stretch and get his bearings.

“I seem to remember you talking about having a goal,” Luke said, retrieving a bottle of cooking oil from the mess of pots and pans. He scooted further up on the cot, making room for him, parting his legs invitingly and held the bottle out for him.

Sylar tried not to show too much, he’d prefer to show an iota of control, but he was a bit more than excited by the initiative. It didn’t take him long to lather up his fingers and spread Luke enough to insert one, two fingers. He wanted to try for a third but as he twisted his wrist and edged one knuckle at a time deeper into the tightness, the look of excruciating agony on Luke’s face made him forget everything else. The sharp _oohs_ under Luke’s breath were lost upon the gusts banging on the windows other creaks and cracks of the wind trying to weather the house even further to the ground.

Sylar removed his fingers, stroked some of the oil onto himself and settled between Luke’s legs, slowly pushing into him with Luke murmuring his assent. When he was pressed deep, the burning tightness around his cock keeping the chill of the room at bay, he managed to pull Luke further into his lap and Luke grabbed the clunky frame of the cot to brace himself as Sylar rocked into him.

He started off at an easy pace, but easy the easy pace was damned when Luke started moaning in earnest and Luke lifted his hips up as far as he could, elbows locked to keep him steady while Sylar pummeled.

Sylar tipped his head back and that’s when he saw the way the shadows were conjoined on the ceiling. Luke’s groan bottomed out and Sylar stopped, rubbing Luke’s thighs to get his attention.

“Look up,” Sylar urged and Luke glance upward, and watched the shadows give and take when Sylar resumed thrusting. Luke eventually broke free of the reverie long enough to reach for Sylar’s hands, placing them around his cock to which he began to buck into erratically, coming in a succession of short spurts that bled through their fingers, coating the inside of Sylar’s arm and his chest. He managed to grind Luke through his orgasm with an agonizing groan without coming apart himself. Even with the softening cock in his hand, he could feel the other parts of Luke’s body uncoil from the tension and weariness he’d been carrying around for so long. Sylar closed his eyes and shifted his weight, cogent enough to keep himself from falling out of Luke completely. He felt nails running up his thigh and Luke pulled Sylar closer, deeper and Sylar swallowed. He reached forward to grip the thin frame on either side of Luke’s head and he drove himself over the edge. He might as well have dove over the rocky hillside into the ocean at the rate he was going and Luke tightened his legs around Sylar’s waist, clenching inside and out like he’s always had a grip on Sylar’s body as Sylar came, shuddering with several swift thrusts that kicked Luke’s gasps up several pitches.

Luke stared at him, glassy-eyed and as utterly spent when he finished. Sylar leaned in to kiss the stupid fuzz growing along the side of his face, but he was too weak from holding himself up any longer, so he collapsed on Luke, forcing a pained grunt from Luke as he landed on his chest, cock popping out.

They laid immobile long enough for Sylar to eventually notice the cold and feel of dried semen beginning to dry. Luke’s knees also served as a painful reminder as they brushed against his sensitive cock. Sylar sat up and they did their best to clean themselves up with the old paper towels that were full of grease stains that were on the floor. Luke silently mirrored him as Sylar dressed in jeans first, shirts and coats second.

Sylar edged him out of the way and Luke recoiled in visible surprise when he laid claim to the cot, stretching out until a single-socked foot dangled over the edge. He shuffled further into the battered pillows at the head, but he wasn’t going to try for much more space since it was a cheap cot that had no suspension whatsoever. He couldn’t imagine what Luke’s back and shoulders felt like right about now.

“Have you figured out what you’re going to do?” Sylar asked, zipping the jacket back up to his chin and rubbed his eyes.

Luke’s shoulders sagged in the lantern light and Sylar followed his gaze to the door where the duffel sat nearly forgotten. Luke kneeled for a moment, grabbing something from underneath the cot and reappeared with a blanket. Sylar anchored his heels in part of the frame when Luke sat down and maneuvered himself in between his legs, reclining until he arranged Sylar’s arms around his shoulders and blanket across his lap.

“I’d rather be out there with you, kicking some ass,” he said.

Sylar fidgeted until he was resting flat on his back with Luke still between his legs. Luke rolled over until his cheek rested on the plane of Sylar’s stomach, shimmying the blanket around them better.

Sylar held out his hand and flicked his index finger at the lantern, knocking the switch off and they listened the rhythmic rattling of the windowpanes. There wasn’t going to be much ass-kicking in the near future, not when he had to play and pretend with Noah and keep agents in check and track Nathan’s movements and orders. He was sure Luke could handle fieldwork, but he wasn’t sure if he could handle right now. Outbursts like that would get him killed sooner rather than later. If he could channel the anger and resentment into something useful, Sylar thought as Luke muffled his sigh into his stomach, it’d be a better story.

Sylar stroked Luke’s cheek. “Find a razor and we’ll see what we can work out,” he said and Luke gave him a playful punch in the stomach.

“Whatever,” Luke muttered, warm breath seeping through the layers of his jacket and cotton. It didn’t take long for Sylar o get used to Luke’s head rising and falling with each breath he took.

Sylar had more words on the tip of his tongue but kept his mouth shut, preferring to listen to the wind howl and rail against the house, imagining how easy it might be to wipe the databases and files that had anything on Luke, make it easier for him to blend in the midst of their current enemies and work from the inside out.

When the graying sky of the dawn began to seep into the bedroom and Sylar woke, not realizing he drifted off while entertaining the possibilities. He found Luke had somehow managed to roll him enough to fit himself alongside his body, face buried in his neck and arm draped over his back. Sylar leaned away to reach for the blanket and pull it back over them. Luke stirred and Sylar captured his hands and guided them back to his side and groggily watched the sunrise with Luke curled against him.


End file.
